


Synthetic

by Sarah_Ellie



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Accidental addiction, Complete, Developing Relationship, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Q injects himself with a synthetic adrenaline that he created for his double-ohs, he was elated to find that it worked. What he didn't expect was for an addiction to set in. An incident leaves Q broken, and James Bond remains with him while Q attempts to pull the pieces back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-Beta'd. TW: Drug addiction
> 
> The drug that Q uses in this fanfic is completely made up, so the side effects/medical aspects that appear within the fic are not at all based in reality. You have been warned.

3 January, 2013 

“What is in the pipeline as far as Research and Development is concerned?” M asked, looking up from the list of program modifications that Q had handed him. 

“We’re looking into alternative weaponry.” Q said, uncrossing his leg and sitting straighter in the chair he had chosen opposite of M’s desk. “I also have a team creating undetectable tracking devices for our agents, so that if they’re taken hostage, they can’t be removed.”

“What about performance enhancers?” M asked. “The last three major assignments given to double-ohs resulted in their long-term treatment for exhaustion.”

“We don’t have anything in the works.” Q said. “There are inherent risks in changing the body’s metabolic processes, I believe.” 

“Quite right.” M said, sitting back. “But surely from a department that created antitoxins that rival some of the most medically advanced private corporations in the world, you can find a solution of some sort.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Q replied, attempting to suppress his uncertainty. 

23 February, 2013 

“What are you working on?” Bond asked, giving a nod to the notes that littered Q’s desk. 

“Synthetic chemical.” Q said absently. “A project request from M, afraid I can’t say much more.”

13 March, 2013 

“Fuck.” Q muttered to himself as the cells under his microscope began to collapse. He emptied the dropper back into the vial and dumped it into the Biohazard bin. 

It was back to square one. 

17 April, 2013 

Around seven-thirty in the evening, most of Q division packed up their desks and shuffled out into the misty London night, headed for home. Q waited patiently one Tuesday for the overhead lights to be turned off, and then locked his office door from the inside. He went back to his desk for another half hour and laboriously engaged all of the safety protocols for the building. Typically, this was something done by Moneypenny after M left, but Q had offered to close up for her that night so that she could go out to a concert with some guy. 

With the MI6 securities engaged, Q got up from his desk and opened a heavy metal door towards the back of his office. A sturdy, metal table unfolded from inside of the wall, and a glass-front miniature refrigerator was revealed once the table had settled. Inside of the fridge were seven vials of pale blue liquid.

Over the course of the week, he had been testing a new accelerant on the lab rats in Q division. What Q had created was a form of synthetic adrenaline, designed for double-oh agents to allow them to stay at peak performance during their missions without the jittery effect of caffeine or illicit drugs. The lab rats, as far as Q could tell, had responded well to the drug. Now, it needed to be tested as fit for human use.

With deft fingers, Q selected one from the stock and held it in one hand while he rooted through a toolkit with the other. He found a syringe, removed it from its plastic wrapped, and plunged the needle into the vial. The blue liquid was quick to fill the syringe, and it pulsed as if it had a heartbeat of its own. On a chart on the table, he wrote a measurement that matched the amount of liquid in the needle, and sighed. 

The truth of the matter was that human trials for a drug could take months, even years to run. The process of finding and vetting participants for the studies could take weeks in and of itself, and then there were the background checks, the incremental testing, and then there was the approval process for the drug. 

But MI6 did not have months to wait. After the debacle with Silva, cyberterrorists the world over had begun copycat crime sprees that had kept the double-ohs and even the regular MI6 field agents running ragged all over the globe. It was havoc that Q still felt a bit responsible for, even though his role in the whole affair had been nominal at best. Regardless, it was his job to outfit the double-ohs with what they needed to come back from their assignments still breathing. 

The potential for the synthetic adrenaline, the ability to boost productivity while maintaining clarity of mind, could help even the playing field. After all, someone had to retrieve these wannabe hackers before someone was seriously injured or worse. 

With a deep breath, Q pressed the needle against his arm, slid it into a vein, and depressed the plunger.


	2. Chapter 2

23 May, 2013 

“Here are your travel documents, your gun, and your radio.” Q said, passing the lockbox across his desk. He accidentally pushed the box too hard, and it nearly toppled over the edge of the desk, but Bond reached out and caught it quickly enough. 

“Sorry.” Q said, jumping to his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as the room seemed to spin around him. 

“No worries.” Bond said. Q knew that he had been warned; that, according to Moneypenny, Q had gained a reputation around MI6 for dashing about over the last few weeks, constantly dipping into different projects in R&D in-between outfitting agents and tracking hotspots on the internet for signs of cyber terrorism. Q watched as Bond carefully opened the box and inspected its contents before he gave Q a nod of thanks. Then, he stood up and reached his hand out. 

Q took it and tried to give Bond a firm handshake. 

“Something the matter, Q?” Bond asked, releasing the Quartermaster’s hand after holding it for a second too long. “You’re shaking.” 

“Too much caffeine.” Q said with a slight shake of his head. “Forgot to switch to herbal after lunch.” The explanation was lame, but Bond was visibly itching to check the details of his new assignment, so Q figured that Bond wouldn’t question him too much. When Bond turned to leave, Q appeared to have assumed correctly. 

With the agent’s back turned, Q was able to collapse back into his chair. He put his head in his hands and took a steadying breath as he tried to control the shivers that had begun to wrack his body. His condition was such that he didn’t see Bond glance back before he left the room. As a result, Q missed the concern that crossed Bond’s face just before he closed the door behind him. Q did, however, hear the door shut, at which point he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, nondescript case. 

There was a four-digit passcode that Q typed in quickly before opening the lid to the case and lifting a vial and a syringe out from a layer of padding. He tried to steady his hands as he filled the syringe and injected the synthetic adrenaline into his body. 

The effect was instantaneous. Q’s body settled immediately, and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

He felt whole once again. 

9 June, 2013 

“Have you seen Q?” Bond asked as he stepped out of M’s office. He had just finished the debrief of his last mission. It had taken much, much longer than he had hoped it would. 

“Not since yesterday.” Moneypenny said, looking up from her laptop. “But since you asked, I’ve been worried about him. I think that something’s not right.”

“What do you mean?” Bond asked. He walked around to the front of Moneypenny’s desk and sat down in a modern-looking wooden chair with a maroon cushion. He immediately regretted it; he had just spent the last hour seated, and his body was not keen to resume the posture. 

“You’ll know when you see him.” Moneypenny said, biting her lip. “He’s skinny and pale, and he looks like he hasn’t slept.”

“He always looks like that.” Bond said bracingly. In his line of work, he didn’t have much patience for alarmists. 

“Yes, but worse.” She said, fiddling with one of her earrings. “Much worse. It’s almost as if he were strung out or something.”

“Strung out?” Bond asked, surprised. “I wouldn’t peg Q for a user.”

“Maybe not.” Moneypenny said, deflating a little. “But something isn’t right.” 

“They test us every few weeks. Something would have turned up by now.” Bond said thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s just ill.”

“Could be.” Moneypenny said with a shrug. “Just take a look after him, will you? I rarely get out of this bloody office, and he likes you best anyways. 

“That’s not even remotely true.” Bond said, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh please, don’t pretend like you don’t notice how often he’s in your ear.” Moneypenny said teasingly. 

“He’s in all of our ears.” Bond said impatiently. “That’s his job.”

“No, it isn’t.” Moneypenny corrected. “Usually, he pawns the comm. Work off on R, or one of his senior staff members. But he drops everything for your assignments. The other double-ohs are starting to feel a bit jilted, if the rumors are true.” She said. 

“The only reasons those rumors exist are because you started them.” Bond said, standing up. 

“Just peek in on him, will you?” She asked. She looked as if she were about to say something else, but the phone on her desk began to ring. 

“Of course, Moneypenny.” Bond assured her before taking advantage of the opportunity to sneak out of the office. 

He left and slowly descended the stairs to Q Division. While Bond wasn’t exactly taking Moneypenny’s concerns to heart, he knew the woman to be relentless once she got wind of something potentially amiss. It was better to quell the impending drama and just go and see Q for himself. The minions glanced up as Bond walked through the room and quickly returned their eyes to their work. It struck Bond that besides the sounds of typing, Q Division was the quietest that he had ever heard it. Bond gave a small nod to Thom, Q’s assistant who had handled his inventory return just before the debrief. Apparently Q had been in an R&D meeting. Or so Thom had said at the time. Now that Bond was standing in the center of Q’s territory, with the department head nowhere in sight, he began to sense that something was going on.

“Q?” Bond began to knock at Q’s office door. There was no answer. Bond fidgeted with the knob, but it was locked. “Q!” Bond pounded harder. Still nothing.

“Is Q out in a meeting?” Bond asked, rounding on one of the interns, a pretty redhead with freckles sprinkled across her collarbone. 

“Um, I… uh…” She stammered, and cast a worried glance at the door. Thom stood up from his computer terminal and began to walk over to Bond, a look of importance cast over his face. Bond could see the terror that lied just underneath the mask. 

“Where is Q?” Bond demanded, louder this time. Thom flinched.

“He hasn’t left all morning.” The intern said quietly. She seemed close to tears. “We haven’t been able to pry him out at all.” 

Bond rounded on the door and began banging once again. 

“Q if you don’t answer this door I’ll break it in!” Bond yelled. There was a shuffle on the other side of the door, and then silence. Bond waited for another moment, and then knocked again. Nothing.

“He could be working on a pro-“ Thom began, nearing Bond.

Bond took a step back, and then raised his foot to the door with as much momentum as he could muster.   
BANG.

The door swung open after three well-aimed kicks. The room was pitch-dark, but a series of lights turned on as Bond rushed into the room. 

“Q!” 

The Quartermaster was crumpled on the floor next to his desk. Q’s body was covered in sweat. Rasping breaths escaped Q’s throat, and his eyes were rolling in his head. One sleeve of his cardigan was rolled up, revealing the crook of his arm, which was covered in pinprick scabs. 

On the floor next to him were the shattered remnants of a medical syringe. There was an empty vial loosely clasped in Q’s opposite hand. 

“Call medical!” Bond yelled back to the group of Q Division staff that was peering through the doorway. “NOW!”

Bond reached for Q and pulled his head into his lap. There was a small voice in the back of his head that reminded him not to move an unconscious person. He ignored it. 

“Q… hold on Q, we’re getting help.” Bond tried to assure his Quartermaster. Without realizing he was doing so, his fingers began stroking through Q’s damp curls with one hand as he gripped tightly onto Q’s shoulder with the other. Bond could feel the racing heartbeat under his fingertips. Q’s eyelids fluttered and opened slightly. For a split second, Bond thought that Q looked up at him with recognition, and something not unlike relief, but he dismissed it as wishful thinking as Q began to convulse violently. 

With immediacy, Bond shifted himself so that he could remove his belt. He slid it between Q’s teeth, over his tongue and then propped Q’s head sideways between his open hands, trying his best to make sure that Q wouldn’t hit anything with his body. Small fragments of glass cut into the exposed flesh on Q’s arm, but there wasn’t anything that Bond could do but watch helplessly as blood seeped onto the floor. Every inch of him wanted to clear the glass away, to slick his hand across the floor and remove the imminent danger of the glass. This time, though, he chose to abide by the voice in the back of his mind. Instead, Bond shifted a leg to prop Q’s arm off of the floor as Q’s movements began to slow. 

The seizure stopped just as the medical team arrived. They pushed Bond out of the way brusquely and began to attend to the broken man on the floor. 

Bond watched them work for a moment before he pulled out his mobile. 

“Moneypenny?” He said into the phone. “We need to talk about Q.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un Beta'd

11 June, 2013 

“I’m bloody fine- it was just an accident!” Q demanded. He attempted for the seventh time to get out of the bed, only to be pinned down bodily by the medical staff. M stood at the end of the bed, hands clasped in front of him. Bond was just behind him, glaring at the medical staff as their hands dug into Q’s skin. 

“Q, you injected yourself with a synthetic chemical compound that wasn’t vetted according to protocol.” M said sternly. “There’s no telling the extent of damage that may have been done to your body. The doctors say there could be long-term damage to your nervous system.”

“I’m fine.” Q insisted again. Bond noticed that underneath the hands of the medical staff, Q’s hands were clenched tightly. 

“We have testimony from members of your staff that suggest that you’ve been using this chemical accelerent for nearly two months.”

“I’ve been testing it.” Q said with exasperation. “I’ve kept extensive notes, if you’d just get these bloody idiots off of me so that I can nip up and get them.”

“Your blood screens suggest use that’s more akin to drug abuse than subject tests.” M said. “Regardless, we’ll be keeping you here for another day or so to observe your health.”

“Let me go back to work.” Q begged, his demeanor swiftly changing. One of the nurses picked up a chart on a side table and scribbled something down inside of it.

M shook his head, and left the room. Bond lingered behind for a moment before he too disappeared. 

12 June, 2013 

There was a row of chairs just outside of Q’s hospital room. Bond was sitting in the one closest to the door, an unread magazine clenched in his hands. 

Inside of the room, Q was screaming. At first, he had renewed his demands to be allowed back into Q Division. But over the hours, as his voice faded and became more desperate, he began to make less lucid demands. 

By the end, he began to sob and cry and beg to be killed. Bond re-entered the room then, and was appalled to see that Q had been tied bodily to the bed by the medical staff. Sweat dripped from Q’s body, and the palms of his hands were covered in fresh, bloodied wounds where Q’s fingernails had dug into his flesh. There were burns where Q’s wrists and legs had rubbed against the binds. 

“Shit, Q.” Bond quickly took gauze out from one of the side tables and wrapped it around the palms of Q’s hands while the sickly man screeched and cried. He then went into the ensuite bathroom and used tissues to wipe some of the sweat away from Q’s eyes. The gauze wouldn’t prevent infection, but it may prevent further damage.

“Bond.” Q gasped, looking to his agent. “Bond, you need to kill me. I’m on fire. Please.”

“You just need to hang in there, Q.” Bond said, placing his hand against Q’s arm. His skin was feverish. 

“Please, Bond.” Q’s voice was broken, and terrified. Somehow, despite the taut pull of his muscles against the frame of the bed and his considerable height, he sounded small. 

“You’ll be okay, Q.” Bond assured him. He pulled up a chair from the side of the room and settled into it. “I’ll be right here, you won’t be alone.”

Q wouldn’t be lucid again for three days. Bond never left the vicinity of the room. 

17 June, 2013 

“You’re being discharged.” Bond said to Q. He was seated in his usual chair by Q’s bedside. Q was untied, but his eyes were ringed with red and the blood vessels in his face were broken open, making his complexion appear spotty. 

“I’m going home?” Q asked. His voice was flat and low. He had strained his vocal cords. 

“No.” Bond said hesitantly. “You’re being released under the condition of there being someone to look after you. You’ll be under outpatient monitoring while you detox.” 

“I thought that’s what these past few days have been.” Q snapped, shifting uncomfortably. In truth, he barely remembered much at all past waking up in the hospital bed. 

“Thom and R did some research into whatever you had been testing on yourself.” Bond said carefully. “It would appear that when you increased the dosage past what had been tested on smaller mammals, there was a tendency for the body to store reserves of the chemical. There is an incredibly high chance that you will experience a second withdraw once this begins to wear off.”

“So then why release me?” Q asked. “If they’re so certain, why not keep me here?”

“M feels that a change in scenery for a little while might help renew your perspective.” Bond said hesitantly. Q looked at him and grit his teeth. They both knew what M was doing. 

“Bloody hell.” Q slammed his head back on his pillow, which expelled the air from his body. Q wasn’t used to being so weak, so damn near fragile. It momentarily terrified Bond, the thought of moving Q out of the bed. “And whose expert custody am I being released into?” 

“Mine.” Bond said. Q stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head. 

“Get me M.” He said, nodding to the phone on his bedside table. “Tell him I’d like a word.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd

20 June, 2013 

“Your flat is in the city, why are we getting on the freeway?” Q asked as Bond signaled his turn.

“We’re not staying at my flat.” Bond said as he merged with traffic. “It was decided that unfamiliar surroundings would be best while you…recovered.”

“You don’t have to put it so delicately.” Q snapped. “While I get over my bloody drug addiction. Just say it. I’m a fucking addict.” 

“You’re not a drug addict, Q. You just made a research mistake.” Bond said bracingly. He had no idea if he believed that himself, but it would be an incredibly long drive if he came out with accusations so early on. 

“Right. A research mistake. Silly me.” Q said acidly. 

Q’s discussion with M had not gone well. At first, Q tried to debate his release from the custody of Medical, but he did so halfheartedly. On the subject of Bond’s custody, however, Q was vocally and fervently opposed. Bond excused himself from the room and listened in the hall as Q asked to be spared the humiliation of his condition being exposed to one of his agents.

It was at that point that Q was told who had found him. Shortly thereafter, some of the empty spaces of the previous few days began to fill, and Bond was ever-present in the memories. 

After a bit of a drive Bond pulled off of the M3 and began to drive down the M27. The ride was silent after Q’s earlier outburst, and eventually Q fell into a sleep that lasted until they reached Portsmouth. From there, he guided the car onto a very large hovercraft and parked the vehicle in a line with multiple others. The jostling of the car stirred Q, who looked around in confusion. 

“Where in the bloody hell are we going?” Q asked. 

“We’re crossing the English Channel.” Bond said. “It won’t be long.” 

“And this behemoth will take us where, exactly?” Q asked suspiciously. 

“Ryde.” Bond answered. He took the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car, shutting the door and leaving Q by himself. He remained in the vehicle for the entirety of the trip while he watched as Bond smoked cigarettes while leaning against the railing of the deck and staring into the churning sea below. 

When the ship docked, Bond returned to the car smelling like smoke and salt. Q didn’t comment. He merely stared out of the front window with his arms folded over his chest and a tired look in his eyes. 

A short drive later, they arrived at the address that Bond was given. 

MI6 had rented Bond and Q a small house near the sea. The house was white, one-level, and far more quaint than either Q or Bond had ever experienced. Bond pulled into the driveway tucked up a small hill that led to the house. 

The house had one floor, which was mostly dominated by a kitchen, dining room, and sitting room that were assembled in a line from one to the other. Off of the dining room was a small hallway with two bedrooms and a bathroom. Off of the back of the kitchen was a large screened-in porch. The furniture was well worn and matronly. Bond walked through the house, looking for cameras and bugging devices. Q pulled out his laptop and began to try and track an internet signal. He didn’t find one. 

“Bloody brilliant.” He said bitterly. 

“You’ll survive.” Bond said as he came into the dining room. 

“I doubt it.” Q replied. He shifted uncomfortably. 

“What’s the matter?” Bond asked. He was surprised to hear the concern in his voice, particularly after Q had been such a prick for the last few hours. 

“I uh… it’s just. It’s hard, that’s all.” Q said quietly. “They gave me a painkiller before I left the hospital, so that I would be comfortable enough to travel, but that’s going to wear off soon. Or it already has.”

“It won’t be as bad as it was, though.” Bond said. His mind flashed to the endless hours of screaming in the medical division hospital. 

“No, I imagine not.” Q said, embarrassed to realize that Bond was there for the worst of his withdraw. Q tried to convey confidence in his words, but his tone made it abundantly clear that he had no idea whether that was true or not. 

21 June, 2013 

Bond heard the moaning in the middle of the night. At first, he felt an awkward twinge run through him. It figured that they would be stuck in a house whose walls were so thin that they may as well have been made of gossamer. 

The second time that he heard the moan, however, Bond realized that there was no pleasure behind it, only deep, pained yearning. He rubbed at his eyes and swung his feet out of bed, creeping gingerly down the hallway with his head cocked to help his hearing.

“Q?” Bond knocked on the bedroom door gently. 

“Fuck off, Bond.” Q replied from the other side of the door, his voice filled with grit. 

Bond turned the knob and pushed into the room to see Q sprawled out on the bed in only his pants, skin slick with sweat. Q’s head was lying on his pillow, and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. 

“What can I do?” Bond asked, approaching the bed.

“You can fucking kill me is what you can do.” Q said. He turned his head and yelled into his pillow, a haunted, guttural wail that tore through Bond’s chest. “Fuck, I can’t do this.”

“It’ll get easier.” Bond said unsure whether he was lying or not. He perched on the end of the bed. Q only grunted in return and fisted his hands in the sheets as his muscles were held taut under his skin. His body was rigid in pain. 

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Q grunted. 

“You haven’t eaten anything since this morning.” Bond said, mostly to himself. Q had refused anything that Bond had offered him except for water. 

“It doesn’t appear to matter.” Q said. His voice was small. 

Not long afterwards, Bond found himself seated on the bed behind Q, who was too weak to hold himself up as he puked into a large mixing bowl. One of Bond’s arms was wrapped tightly around Q’s chest while the other brushed the hair away from Q’s face. 

When Q had finished, Bond took the bowl to the bathroom and cleaned it out. He returned with the clean bowl and set it on the bedside table. Q was curled in the center of the bed, shivering. 

“I’ll be fine.” Q said quietly as Bond reached out to him. “Go back to bed.”

Bond was about to insist that he stay, to keep an eye on Q, when a pleading look crossed the younger man’s face like a shadow. All of the insistence that Bond had melted away, and he placed the bowl from the bedside table closer to Q’s position on the bed. 

“I’m just on the other side of the wall.” He said. “Yell if you need me.” 

“I’ll be okay.” Q murmured, rolling onto his stomach. 

Bond left the room, closing the door behind him. He returned to his own bed, to collect the blanket and a pillow. He took them from his room and settled on the hallway floor just outside of Q’s door. He rested the pillow against the wall and laid the blanket across his lap; posed as a sentinel in the night. 

22 June, 2013 

It couldn’t have been more than an hour after Bond finally fell to sleep that Q was sitting up and retching into the bowl again. Bond heard him through the closed door and immediately entered the room so that he could resume his earlier position behind Q. He held the broken man steady. There was nothing for Q to expel from his body this time, but his organs seemed to want to deny their very existence, so he continued to shake and retch anyway. After a few minutes, Q began to sob quietly as his body moved beyond his will. Every sound from his throat seemed tortured. 

Bond didn’t say anything. He only continued to hold Q, who was getting weaker the longer that he convulsed. Sweat soaked through Q’s clothes, but his skin was ice cold. For a moment, Bond began to panic, unsure what to do. Finally, Q’s body began to quiet, and the sobs turned into gasps. Q sank back into Bond’s chest, his stuttered, muggy breath pressing into Bond’s skin. 

“Here.” Bond reached around Q and moved the bowl aside. He then gently lowered Q so that he was lying on the bed. 

“Don’t leave.” Q croaked out. There was legitimate fear in his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Bond replied. He turned and looked for a chair, but stopped when he felt Q’s hand lay across his own.

“No, come here.” Q murmured, reaching out to Bond. 

Something should have kept Bond from getting closer to Q. Bond knew this, but he was not able to find the part of him that knew restraint. Instead, he crawled over and behind Q so that he could wrap his arms around the skin-and-bones shadow that was trapped beside him among the sea of sheets. Bond’s intention was to warm Q up. That was what he told himself. 

“I’m sorry.” Q croaked after long moments of silence. 

“You don’t need to be sorry for this, Q.” Bond said, his tone light. 

“I’ve been terrible.” Q said. His voice cracked around the words. “I’m an arse.”

“Only sometimes.” Bond said, running the back of his hand across Q’s forehead. “Now go to sleep.”

Q’s vomiting soon established the pattern that was repeated for the course of the rest of the day. Every few hours, Q would wake up and find himself sick, but his body had nothing to give. In the early afternoon, Bond made Q a cup of very weak tea, which was thrown up within the hour. All that Bond could do was lie with Q in between the bouts of illness, and sneak away while he slept. 

Bond called MI6 in the early evening, but there was nothing that they could do to help him. 

“He just has to detox.” The doctor said. “If he hasn’t kept liquids down by tomorrow morning, then you’ll have to give him an IV. They’re in the medical kits-“

“I know where they are.” Bond snapped. “There’s nothing else that we can do for him?”

“I’m afraid not.” The doctor replied. Bond could hear the reservation in the man’s voice. It occurred to him that Q was suffering was becoming less of a lesson for Q himself, and more of a cautionary tale for the other handlers in Q Branch. 

Bond hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment in frustration. Then, he went into the kitchen to go through the emergency medical kit that he had been given. He wasn’t going to wait until morning to hydrate Q. He couldn’t allow him to waste away on his watch.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un Beta'd.

23 June, 2013 

“I’ve brought you some toast.” Bond said, placing a small carrying tray on Q’s bedside table. “There’s some juice here as well. You need a bit of sugar in your system.” 

“Thank you, Bond.” Q said weakly. It had been a few hours since he had last been sick, and that bout of illness hadn’t lasted nearly as long as the ones before it. 

“Don’t mention it.” Bond replied. He pulled up the chair that he had been frequenting most often since he and Q had arrived in the house. The window was open, propped up by a piece of wood. The salty sea air that drifted into the room was deepening Bond’s itch to find something to do besides linger in the house all day. He tried to push down the feelings that hinged closer to desperation with every passing hour, and watched as Q delicately picked at the bread on the plate next to him. 

“I mean it.” Q said, not looking up from his hands. “ Sincerely, thank you. I know how miserable this must be.”

“I just wish I understood why, Q. Why would you test a drug on yourself to begin with? And then why wouldn’t you tell someone when you had become dependent on it?” Bond asked. The question had been burning in the back of his throat since those first days at the hospital in MI6.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Q sighed. 

“Try me.” Bond said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. 

Q swallowed, worrying his tongue between his teeth. 

25 June, 2013 

Technically, once Q began to mend, Bond was supposed to get in touch with MI6 to establish their return date. It was entirely possible that Q would be required an extra few days of leave, but they would most likely be told that they could return to London. 

Instead, Bond kept the status of Q’s recovery downplayed. He filed the reports that M had sent him with, carefully annotating any of the pain and symptoms that Q displayed. What Bond neglected to indicate were the little things that wouldn’t be easily understood on paper- the most telling of which was the significance of the first day that Q spent entirely out of bed. 

Q had surprised Bond by shuffling into the kitchen in his pyjamas, hair a mess, and looking rather lost. Bond opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again at a hard glance out of the corner of Q’s eye. Instead, he cleared his throat.

“Would you like some tea?” Bond asked. Q looked over at him, and visibly relaxed.

“Please.” Q said tiredly. There were deep circles under his eyes and he had a distinctly pinched look that worried Bond. 

Bond filled the electric kettle and plugged it in. He tried not to glance back at Q, whose waifish body had become a sudden distraction. Even in pyjama pants and a soft grey tee shirt, Bond could see the jut of bones rising slightly through the fabric. Q was not quite emaciated, but he was certainly getting there. 

“You should eat something.” Bond said, opening the cabinets. He rooted through until he found an unopened jar of applesauce that he had bought at the convenience mart down the street. He dished a bit out into a ceramic bowl and handed it to Q with a spoon. He then set about making the tea as Q sat at a small corner table to eat. 

“Earl Grey may be a bit strong for you right now.” Bond mumbled, rooting through a tea sampler. “Maybe chamomile? It may soothe the stomach.”

“ Careful Bond, you’ll be mistaken as domestic.” Q said cordially. He was slowly spooning applesauce into his mouth. 

“Believe it or not, I’ve been in relationships before.” Bond said, plucking a tea bag out of the box and placing it in a mug. “I know how to make a cup of tea and tend to the sickly.” He poured the boiled water into the mug and carefully gave it to Q. 

“You don’t strike me as a relationship man.” Q said. He gave Bond a nod in thanks as he wrapped his long, thin fingers around the mug.

“I’m not, mostly.” Bond replied. He took a seat opposite of Q. “It’s hard to explain to people why you disappear for weeks at a time and come back with bullet wounds. People who’ll put up with that aren’t the type to be picked up at a café.” 

“I suppose not.” Q said with a small laugh. 

“Anyway…” Bond trailed off for a moment, watching Q sip his tea. “How are you feeling?” 

“A bit better, I suppose.” Q shrugged, looking down at his hands. “It’s hard, to want something so badly. It feels like my entire body is itching for it.” 

“At least the initial detox is over.” Bond said, resting his arms on the table. “Now it’s just kicking whatever’s left over.”

“Yes. Luckily getting over substance addiction is very easy.” Q said sardonically. He finished the applesauce in his bowl and trailed the spoon absently over the fleur-de-lis design on the bottom. 

“We’ll do what we can.” Bond said, reaching over to pat Q on the shoulder. He was surprised when the Quartermaster leaned into the touch, instead of away. He paused for a moment before pushing to his feet and clearing Q’s bowl from the table. 

“I just wish I didn’t feel like absolute shit.” Q sighed, draining the last of his tea. He stood and walked past Bond’s outstretched hand and placed the mug in the sink. Immediately, he began to wash the dished piled at the bottom. There were his breakfast dishes, and a few plates and bits of cutlery from whatever Bond had been eating as well. 

“Give it time.” Bond said. He left the kitchen and went into the sitting room, where a book was propped open on the table. He settled onto the sofa and began to read. He looked up when Q wandered into the room and looked around. 

“How are things in London?” He asked. 

“R has things under control, and Thom is looking after your personal projects.” Bond said from between the pages of his book. “I’ve been instructed to tell you that you are banned from the MI6 servers without official authorization from M, which you’ll get upon your return.”

“And when am I allowed to return?” Q asked, sitting in a chair across from Bond. 

“When you have clearance from Medical.” Bond said. “I believe they’re sending someone down at the end of the week.” 

“It’s only bloody Tuesday.” Q said miserably. Bond rolled his eyes and continued to read. 

By early afternoon, it was clear that Q was having trouble. He had begun to itch absently at his forearm while he sat and read a book that he had plucked from one of the shelves around the house. Bond noticed that Q’s feet rarely stopped moving, and instead were tapping an indiscernible pattern into the floorboards. He was about to say something to Q when he noticed that blood had been drawn on Q’s one arm, just at the edge of the remnants of the rope burn, and the Quartermaster didn’t seem to have noticed. 

“Shit, Q. Your arm.” Bond said suddenly, grabbing a tissue and kneeling next to Q to press it against the bleeding wound. 

“Sorry.” Q mumbled, although Bond detected a hint of bristling annoyance in his voice. He remained still as Bond dabbed at his arm, and Bond noticed that the pulse on his wrist had sped considerably. 

It was then that Bond decided that getting out of the house may be best for Q. 

“Why don’t you go and clean yourself up. We can go for a walk.” Bond said, tossing the tissue into the bin in the corner of the room. 

“Okay then.” Q sighed and stood up, glancing at his arm with an expression of frustration as he padded off to the bathroom. A few seconds later, Bond heard the taps turn and the pipes gurgle. 

An hour later, they were crossing the front garden and heading down to the sea wall that overlooked the channel a few blocks away. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, Q was wearing a blue cardigan over his jeans. Never one to dress down, Bond was wearing khaki trousers and a collared shirt. They walked closely together, trying to avoid the growing crowds as they got closer to the water. 

Since knowing Q, Bond had never seen him outside of his role as Quartermaster. There was a level of concentration that couldn’t be broken when a person worked with some of the most dangerous weaponry in the empire, and the double-oh agents were the most threatening of those weapons. But since his collapse, Bond had been forced to reconcile himself with this other side of Q; vulerable and physically weak, needing. 

Now, however, there was a different quality to Q than Bond had seen before. It wasn’t lightness, not with the weighty reality of Q’s looming addiction, but there was something more open in Q’s face. His eyes were raised, and his hands were not fidgeting. It struck Bond that some of the younger women, and indeed a few of the men as well, were casting Q a second glance as they passed by. 

“You’re popular, it seems.” Bond said as they approached the sea wall. The stone was laid thickly where it loomed above the crashing waves. 

“I’m sorry?” Q asked, torn from his thoughts. 

“You were attracting attention.” Bond said as he crouched down to sit on the stone. He let his feet dangle over the sides. “They were pretty, too.”

“Ah.” Q sat as well, but kept a fair distance from the edge of the wall. He sat with his legs crossed beneath him.

“Not interested?” Bond joked, glancing back at Q.

“Not particularly.” Q said. He shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked out over the water. His eyes followed a pair of seabirds that were diving in the distance. 

“Don’t tell me that you don’t date.” Bond said. “You’re too young to be celibate for your country.”

“I don’t date.” Q confirmed. “But it’s not out of nationalism, I assure you.” 

“Why, then?” Bond asked. 

“Practicality.” Q replied. He didn’t say anything further, and Bond decided not to ask. 

Bond reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and took a long drag. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Q watching him. 

“Here.” Bond held the cigarette out to Q, who took it.

“Will it help?” Q asked, glancing down. 

“Probably not.” Bond said, pulling a second cigarette out of his pack. “But it’s something to do, isn’t it?” 

“What does it keep you from doing?” Q asked, taking a drag of his own. Bond was impressed when Q didn’t cough. 

“It’s not easy, being between assignments.” Bond said cryptically. 

“So you smoke.” Q said. 

“Among other things.” Bond replied. “I try to keep busy, distract myself.”

“Being here must be driving you nuts.” Q said, flicking the cigarette. He watched as the ash caught in the wind and swirled out towards the sea. 

“I don’t mind.” Bond said. He stubbed his cigarette out and leaned back, opening his face to the sun. “You’re my Quartermaster. I’m invested in your well being.”

“Bollocks.” Q said. “Anybody could do my job.” 

Bond sat up and turned his body to face Q fully. 

“No, they couldn’t.” Bond said seriously. “And don’t think for a second that you’re just anybody.”

Q scoffed and flicked his cigarette into the ocean. Carefully, he stood and looked down at Bond. 

“Let’s head back.” He said.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un Beta'd

27 June, 2013 

“Where are the fucking med kits, Bond?” Q snapped. He shoved past Bond and began to dig through the kitchen cabinets. Bond watched him from the doorway, expression a blank mask. 

“I got rid of them.” Bond replied. 

“Bond, don’t fuck with me. I need something. I need to kill this… this fucking burn.” Q’s nails clawed at his arms, he paced the room in a panic, tearing through the drawers. 

“Even if we had the kits, there’s nothing in them that will help in the end, Q. You just need to get through it.” Bond said, taking another step into the room. 

“Bond, please.” Q pleaded, slamming a drawer closed. “I just… I can’t do this. My body is on fire, I need it to stop.” 

“Q, I promise you, it’s just an effect of the drug. Medical said you would have relapses like this, you just need to-“

“Fuck medical, they don’t know anything.” Q snapped. He tried to pass Bond again, but the agent reached out and grabbed him by the upper arm to stop him.

A second later, Bond felt a hard punch scrape across his left cheek, right on the ridge of bone underneath his eye. Quickly, Bond swept out with his left foot, knocking Q’s feet out from under him. With the one hand still wrapped around Q’s arm, Bond lowered the thinner man to the floor. He was rough, but he didn’t aim to do any damage. 

“Don’t do that again.” Bond warned. He moved so that he was crouched with his legs on either side of Q’s back, just above his arse.

“Let me up.”Q snarled. He struggled against Bond, but wasn’t able to crawl out of Bond’s hold. 

“Only once you promise not to hit me again.” Bond said. He used the momentum in his hips to press Q back onto the floor. Q’s body immediately relaxed, and Bond decided that this was close enough, so he stood and watched Q clamber to his feet. 

As Q stood up straight, Bond’s eyes caught the unmistakable bulge in Q’s groin. He tried to turn away, to pretend that he had not seen, but it was too late. 

“Fuck you.” Q hissed, turning on his heel. He stalked into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Bond heard the window slide open, followed by the repetitive snick of a lighter. 

He didn’t reappear for the rest of the evening. 

28 June, 2013 

“How are you feeling?” Bond asked when Q appeared in the kitchen around lunchtime.

“Like absolute shit.” Q replied. He filled a glass with water and disappeared back into his bedroom without another word. 

29 June, 2013 

“Q?” Bond knocked on the door. 

“What do you want, Bond?” Q answered. His voice was muffled. Bond opened the door, and saw the outline of Q’s body laying on his bed.

“Someone from Medical will be here tomorrow.” Bond said, closing the door behind him. “Moneypenny just called to give me a heads up.” 

“Fine.” Q said. He turned his head and looked at Bond. “You know, you can request a transfer of services. I wouldn’t want to be trapped here with me either.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bond asked, taking a seat on the end of the bed. 

“Just… I won’t be offended, alright?” Q said. 

“I’m not leaving.” Bond said defensively. “I wouldn’t leave you. Not like this.” 

Q mumbled something into his pillow, but otherwise did not respond. At a loss as to what to do, Bond moved further up the edge of the bed, until he was close to Q’s shoulder. 

“I wish you would let me help you.” Bond said quietly. 

“I can’t even help me, Bond.” Q said sadly. “I’m not really sure what you expect to be able to do.” 

It was then, with Q curled up and defeated among the sheets and his pillow and the looming potential for things to either end well or poorly, that Bond felt a sudden spark in his growing affection for Q. 

29 June, 2013 

“How long did the initial withdraw last?” The doctor asked. She was seated in the sitting room in the chair across from Bond. Q was by his side, but he was looking out the window, clearly removed from the conversation. 

“A day or two.” Bond replied. 

“And the subsequent physical symptoms?”

“They cleared up fairly quickly after the withdraw faded.” Bond said. 

“Have there been any strong shifts in emotion since the physical symptoms passed?” The doctor asked. She sat straight-backed on the chair, and barely looked down at her clipboard. 

“A few.” Bond said hesitantly. 

“Which would suggest a desire for outside substances, yes?”

It was Q who answered this time, instead of Bond. “Yes.” 

“And how strong would you rate that desire?” 

“It changes.” Q said tiredly. Bond knew that he had not slept much the night before. The sounds of Q tossing and turning had been constant through the night.

“Then at their worst? Ten being the highest?”

“A nine.” Q said, automatically. 

“And right now?” She asked. 

“A seven.” Q replied. He ran his thumb over the skin at the edge of his nails, which were scabbed. 

“I see.” The doctor said. She wrote something on her clipboard.

She left not long after, indicating that they would be contacted by MI6 with Medical’s recommendations. Bond walked her to her car and tried to pry information from her, but was unsuccessful. When he returned to the house, he collapsed on the couch beside Q, who shifted a little and ended up closer to Bond. 

“What are the odds that that went well?” Q asked, looking at Bond.

“I’ve no bloody clue.” Bond replied. 

“Right.” Q said. “I need a drink.”

“That makes two of us.” Bond said. “Hold on a minute.” 

He got up and went into the kitchen, pulling two small tumblers from one of the cabinets. He then disappeared into his bedroom. When he returned, he was holding a bottle of top-shelf scotch. 

“Here we are.” Bond said, pouring a hearty measure of alcohol into each glass over the coffee table before sliding one to Q. They clinked glasses. Bond took along pull from his, and was surprised to see that Q had drained his whole.

“Careful there, Q.” Bond said, suddenly worried. “I doubt your body will hold much.”

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” Q said. He held out his glass to Bond, and smiled when he poured another measure into Q’s glass. Bond paused for a moment before he finished his own in one gulp before refilling his own tumbler in similar fashion. 

They were both drunk in fairly short order, Q because the liquor went directly to his head, and Bond because he began pouring himself double the amount as Q after the Quartermaster began to place his hand on Bond’s thigh when he laughed.


	7. Chapter 7

30 June 2013 

A ringing telephone cracked through Bond’s thick haze of sleep. He groaned and reached towards the sound of the phone.

“Bond.” He answered, eyes closed.

“Bond, this is M.” Bond sat up, still bleary-eyed. “I’ve met with the head of Medical, and we’ve decided that you and Q should return to London as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.” Bond said. He closed his eyes again in an attempt to shield them from the light. 

“However, the level of Q’s addiction is a matter of concern. There are a few steps that we will be taking, but primarily he will be kept under your care when he is not at Headquarters. During the day, he will work with an addictions specialist in addition to performing his regular duties, but it has been agreed that he should not be left alone outside of MI6.”

“Wouldn’t a specialist be better for this?” Bond asked. His voice was filled with gravel and his breath tasted like trash. He could feel the throbbing in the back of his head indicating the hangover he would be experiencing in a matter of seconds. He put his head in his hand, trying to further shield the light that played against the backs of his eyelids. 

“The Medical director feels that what he needs is someone he is familiar with.” M said. 

"And what Q feels that he needs? Are we taking any consideration into that at all?"

“I’m afraid I won’t be hearing any arguments about this, Bond. We need our head of Q Branch back in working order, and we’re trusting you to help with the job.”

“Yes Sir.” Bond said, resigned.

“Excellent. I encourage you to head back sometime today. Oh, and as I understand, we will be sending people into your flat with a few of Q’s things to make the transition easier.”

“I expected nothing less.” Bond said. 

He hung up the phone and tossed it aside. He lay back down. The sheets next to him began to move, and his heart clenched. Slowly, Q extricated himself from under the blankets. A quick check into his own lap revealed to Bond that he himself was dressed only in his pants.

The night before came back to him hazily. The scotch, hours spent curled up with Q in the sitting room before it grew dark. Bond remembered Q kissing him, wet and warm and somewhat sloppy from drunkenness. After that, they had moved towards the bedroom, where Bond had wrangled with the fly of Q’s pants and pulled them down enough to take Q’s cock into his mouth. 

He couldn’t remember anything going much farther than that. They had been all mouth and tongues and hands, but there hadn’t been sex. Not that kind, anyway. 

“Ah.” Bond said, pressing a hand to his forehead. 

“Fuck.” Was Q’s reply. “How drunk were we?” 

“Drunk enough.” Bond answered. Q didn’t say anything, so he continued. “We’re to report back to London sometime today.”

“I heard.” Q said. He sat up and groaned. 

“It would also appear that we’re to be roommates until your addictions treatment is complete.” Bond said. He glanced at Q’s back, and was filled with dread at the sight of the scratches that extended from Q’s shoulder blades to his hips. 

“Of course.” Q groaned. He stood, and froze when he appeared to realize for the first time that he was completely naked. Bond felt his cock stiffen at the sight, but he was quick to turn away. He could hear the Quartermaster cursing under his breath as he reached for his pyjama bottoms. 

“Listen, Q…” Bond began. 

“This didn’t happen, Bond.” Q said, walking around to the other side of the bed. “We were drunk, these past few days have been a bit awful for both of us, it’s fine. No one has to know, and we won’t talk about it again, okay?”

“Okay, Q.” Bond said, standing. He could see his trousers on the floor, not far from his abandoned shirt. 

“Okay.” Q agreed. “Now, I’m going to shower and pack. We should leave soon.” 

Bond nodded and left the room, trying to push away the feelings that nagged at him. 

The drive back to London was silent. The close proximity of the car was agonizing. Bond wanted nothing more than to reach across the gap between them and feel the heat of Q’s thighs and the long, dexterous fingers folded in his lap. Q was trying to fight the memory of Bond’s mouth stretched over his cock and the subsequent desire that pooled in his stomach at the thought. 

Once again, Bond led Q into an unfamiliar place. The flat was very tidy and furnished in dark woods, chrome, and leather. The door opened into the kitchen, which separated itself from the main room with a high counter. Not far off was a short hallway, which led to two bedrooms that shared a large bathroom. 

“The door on the right is yours.” Bond said. “Your things should already be in there.” 

“Thanks.” Q said, shifting awkwardly. Bond ran his hand across his chin and sighed. 

They were both very, very out of their depth. 

1 July 2013 

It was just past midnight, and Bond was out on the balcony that extended off of the main room. There was a cigarette in his hand, but he had barely smoked it. He was lost in thought over Q; the man’s recovery, their drunken debacle, and the prospect of living with him for an undisclosed amount of time. It was daunting, particularly since Bond wanted nothing more than to feel Q under him again, feel their skin sliding together. 

“Can’t sleep?” Q asked, startling Bond. 

“Nope.” Bond answered. He dropped the cigarette onto the floor of the balcony and stepped on the lit end. 

“Your place is nice.” Q said tentatively. 

“Thanks. I hope you don’t mind staying.” 

Q shrugged and leaned against the wall. “Honestly, it’s a relief not to have to go back to my flat just yet.” He said. “I worked on that synthetic nightmare from home sometimes. There are bits of it all over the place. It’s easier to be in a place where I know it can’t crop up.” 

“You haven’t been too bad today, it seems.” Bond said. He leaned back casually against the railing, and Q flinched slightly. 

“No, I haven’t.” He said, running his fingers through his hair. “I have some theories on that, actually.” 

“Of course you do.” Bond said with a smile. “Go on.”

“Well… obviously last night was a bit… adrenaline filled.” Q began cautiously. Bond noticed that the tips of Q’s ears were turning red. He tried his best to keep his own expression impassive.

“Anyway, I think that the natural high of adrenaline and endorphins helped to replicate what my body has been trying to get since I’ve stopped using. So it acted like a hit to my system.”

“So then you can just hook up with someone and be fine?” Bond asked, amused. 

“No. Bond. It’s a bit more complicated than that.” Q said with exasperation. “I think that it only worked last night because I had been without the drug for so long. The reality is that I would need to replicate high doses of the synthetic adrenaline to fight off the withdraw completely, and that’s not possible unless I become an Olympic runner in the next two days.”

“So it was a temporary fix.” Bond said. 

“The kind of thing that will be useful to file away for bad days.” Q said with a nod. “And I’m not sure if exercise will work, because what I created was meant to react to situational adrenaline- fear, excitement, and the like. Hopefully I’m wrong though.”

The pitiful thing was that they both knew that Q wasn’t. Luck just didn’t seem to work that way.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd
> 
> TW: Mentions of suicide.

3 July, 2013 

Q was pacing the apartment. His eyes were predatory, although his demeanor could not quite achieve threatening as he bit his fingernails and fidgeted subconsciously. Bond watched him from the kitchen, braced against the counter with both hands. 

“There’s a gym downstairs. Want me to take you down?” Bond asked, his eyes following Q as he crossed the room and back. 

“No.” Q said. 

“Well you’re going to wear a hole in my floor if you don’t knock it off, so you need to figure out what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to jump off your fucking balcony is what I’m going to do.” Q snapped and kicked the leg of one of Bond’s armchairs. Bond heard the crack of Q’s toe, but did not move from where he stood as he watched Q flinch and then continue to pace, this time with a limp. The pained expression edged off of his face after a moment, and Q’s eyes lit up as if he had a sudden epiphany. 

Bond was by Q’s side in an instant.

“No.” Bond said. 

“You don’t even-“

“You’re not inducing pain just to stave off the need for the drug.”

“Bond.” Q stopped pacing and looked at the agent. “It’s a temporary fix, I won’t do any lasting damage.”

“You’ve been through enough, Q. You’re not doing this.” 

“You don’t actually get to tell me what to do.” Q pointed out, moving away from Bond. 

It was easy for Bond to take Q by the waist and steer him against the wall of his flat. The movement was quick, but not entirely graceful, as their mouths collided. Bond moved his thigh in-between Q’s legs and pressed against his groin. He could feel Q’s erection digging into his skin. With one hand, he slid his fingers into the dark curls that were so long that they brushed against his forehead. The other hand dug into Q’s hip. 

“What are you-“ Q broke off from the kiss, panting but looking at Bond desperately. 

“Do you want this?” Bond asked. “I don’t care what the reason might be, but do you want this?”

“Y-yes.” Q stammered. 

Bond leaned forward and pried Q’s mouth open with his tongue. He continued to move his mouth aggressively against Q’s until his own erection pressed tightly against his trousers. He reached both hands down to cup Q’s ass before taking him by the back of his thighs so that Qs legs were wrapped around Bond’s waist. He thrust upwards, relishing in the friction. 

“Bedroom.” Q panted, digging his fingers into Bond’s shoulders. He let one hand slide to the back of Bond’s neck and pressed into the base of Bond’s neck as he stooped his head to kiss him. 

15 July, 2013 

The report that M handed Bond was thick and heavy, but the front page summed it up easily enough. He read it quickly, his heart hammering in his throat. 

“Why are you giving me this?” Bond asked. 

“Because as his primary caregiver, you have to know.” M said, rubbing his eyes. 

“But if this is true, then you can’t expect me to take this responsibility on.” Bond said incredulously. 

“We don’t know what we expect yet, 007. We haven’t even told him yet.”

16 July, 2013 

Bond was sitting on the floor of the balcony when Q returned to the flat. He heard the bag hit the floor by the coat rack, and the keys rattle against the granite counter tops. He almost hoped that Q would head straight to his room. Instead, Q came straight to the balcony, lit a cigarette, and slid down the wall to be near Bond. 

“So you saw the report, then?” Q said, taking a drag. His voice was thick, almost coy. Bond was instantly reminded of the sway of a cobra just before its strike. 

“Late last night.” Bond said. 

“Then you know, that I’m never going to get better?” Q said, staring at Bond. “I’m going to be a fucking needy addict for the rest of my bloody life.” 

“They could be wrong, Q.” Bond said carefully. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“It makes perfect sense though, doesn’t it?” Q asked, flicking his cigarette. “My body is so used to running on that goddamn adrenaline concoction that it’s always going to want it. I’m never going to get rid of this awful itch. I’m trapped in this bloody nightmare for the rest of my life.”

“Q, we’ll figure something out.” Bond said, reaching over to lay a hand on Q’s knee. He was surprised when the younger man jerked away. 

“We aren't going to do anything, Bond.” Q said. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

“M authorized a placement change?” Bond asked.

“No, but it’s my bloody life, I’m not going to be a charge for caretakers anymore.” Q snapped. “I’ll go off the grid. It’ll be easy enough, I designed all of MI6’s tracking systems.”

“If you disappear, they’re going to go after you.” Bond said. He did not tell Q that MI6 would send him, he knew it without a doubt. 

“Then I’ll fake my own death.” Q said, running his fingers along his arms. Even in the dim light from the flat, Bond could see the trails of scars along Q’s skin, resting side by side with fresh cuts. “Or I’ll do one better and just kill myself.”

“Q, don’t talk like that.” Bond said. “I understand that you’re upset, but there’s no need to do anything rash.”

“Don’t talk to me about acting rashly, Bond.” Q said. His tone was dangerously even. “I have the right to make decisions about my own life.”

“Not if that includes ending it, Q!” Bond yelled. He got to his feet and looked down at Q, who began to stand as well. 

“I am not listening to this.” Q said simply. He turned and walked back into the flat. Bond spun around and gripped the balcony railing tightly. He let go only when he heard the door to the flat open and then close again.


	9. Chapter 9

17 July, 2013 

“Q? Answer your phone.” Click. 

“This isn’t fucking funny, Q. Call me back.” Click. 

“Answer your bloody phone.” Click. 

“You fucking bastard.” Click. 

“Q, please. I just want to know that you’re okay.” Click. 

21 July, 2013 

Moneypenny unlocked the door to Bond’s flat and went inside. She was not surprised to see Bond sitting at his kitchen counter with a glass in his hand. He was not surprised to see her. 

“You haven’t been to work.” Moneypenny said, setting her bag down. 

“I’m assignment-only. I only come when I’m summoned.” Bond said. He took another pull from his glass. 

“That never stopped you before.” 

“Things change.” 

“Apparently.” Moneypenny said, casting a glance around the flat. It was a mess. 

“Why are you here, Moneypenny?” 

“To make sure that you’re alive.” 

“I have a heart monitor implant for that.” Bond said, gesturing to a raised lump on his inner wrist. 

“Okay, maybe I came because I have some news.” Moneypenny said, placing a folder on the table. 

“Good or bad?”Bond asked, glancing over. 

“Neither, really.” Moneypenny said. “Far as we can tell, Q is still alive. He’s been using a credit card account to stay at small hostels around England.”

Bond sat up straighter. “Then why haven’t we found him yet?”

“Because he’s somehow programmed a two-day delay on the payment registers. By the time we can track it, he’s moved. The last place that cropped up was in Portsmouth.” 

“Portsmouth? You’re kidding.” Bond said, putting his glass down. 

“What’s so special about Portsmouth?” Moneypenny asked. 

“Nothing at all.” Bond lied. 

After Moneypenny left, he packed a small bag and grabbed his car keys. 

22 July, 2013 

It took precisely three hours for Bond to find Q once he had gotten off of the Hovercraft to Ryde. He parked the car down the block, and then walked up to the seawall slowly. Q was seated on the stone, once again giving the edge a fairly wide berth. 

“Thinking of jumping?” He asked as he walked up. Q glanced over his shoulder and sighed. 

“No, but thank you for your concern.” Q said. “How did you-“

“I figured I had about a day left before you packed up to hit wherever was next on your list.” Bond said, sitting down next to Q. “I didn’t think that Ryde had left much of an impression on you.” 

Q only shrugged. “What did you expect to happen once you’d found me?”

“I didn’t think that far.” Bond admitted. “You never answered your phone.” 

“I was trying to give you a hint.”

“You don’t want to see me.” Bond stated.

“I want to be left alone.” Q amended. “I want to be able to think in peace.”

“You wanted to hide, Q.” Bond said. “I wish I knew why.”

Q sighed and looked at Bond. 

“M would have made you my caretaker for years, Bond. We both know that.” He said. 

“We don’t.” 

“We do. I’m an asset and a threat. M wasn’t going to risk a loose cannon. I couldn’t stay.”

“Why not? We can figure out a way to help you, Q.” Bond said. He scraped his hands over the warm rocks under him. 

“At the expense of your career, Bond. You’d go from a double-oh to a glorified nanny. Maybe you’d get a short assignment here or there, but you’d be bound to me. I couldn’t do that to you.” 

“You didn’t give me much of a choice.” Bond pointed out. “You just left.”

“It was for the best.” Q said. 

“Because you’d hate to be stuck with me?” Bond asked, his throat suddenly dry. 

“Because I wouldn’t know if you were there because you wanted to be or if you had to.” Q said, averting his eyes. 

“What if it wasn’t ordered by MI6?” Bond asked, leaning towards Q. “What if I had no obligation to you at all, besides wanting to be with you?” 

“I don’t-.” Q said. 

Bond closed the remainder of the gap between them with a kiss. 

1 August, 2013 

“Am I to understand that I am being given an ultimatum?” M asked, looking at Bond and Q sternly. 

“Yes.” Bond said.

31 August, 2013 

“I’ve completed the addictions workshop.” Q said one night over dinner. 

“Already?” Bond asked, looking up from his steak. 

“Well the specialist has never worked with this sort of chronic addiction before, so it’s not exactly a closed case, but I’m considered low risk for relapse.”

“It’s about damn time they figured that bit out.” Bond said, picking up his glass of wine. “Congratulations.” 

Q picked up his own glass and clinked it against Bond’s. They both drank with smiles on their faces.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd

20 September, 2013 

The itch was the worst that it had been in weeks. Q had managed to keep the Want at bay for a long time, mostly thanks to some rather complicated assignments that he had been overseeing through the comms. But things had been quiet for the last few days, and Bond had been sent with a clean-up crew to Dubai at the beginning of the week. 

Q was very much left to his own devices. 

He tried a few methods of distraction first; playing games, running a few miles on the treadmill, and chain smoking on the back stoop of his flat. Finally, he admitted to himself that he wasn’t going to be able to deal much longer. 

To Bond’s credit, he answered on the first ring. 

“Everything alright?” Bond asked, the concern evident in his voice. 

“I’m fine James.” Q assured him as he paced from one end of his flat to the other. “Just having a rough day, is all.” 

“I’ll be home tomorrow, can you hang in there until then?” Bond asked. 

“I don’t think I have much of a choice.” Q said. He fought to keep his free hand in his pocket, away from the skin on his opposite arm.

“I’ll come see you first thing.” Bond promised. 

“I’m at the office all day.” Q said. 

“You say that like it matters.” 

21 September, 2013 

Q rolled over, legs tangled in his sheets, and felt his arm land on something warm and solid. He opened his eyes and was flooded with relief at the sight of Bond, laying in the bed next to him, watching him sleep. 

"You know, some guys think that's creepy." Q said with a yawn, inching closer to Bond. 

"Lucky for me, you find it charming." Bond replied, kissing Q gently as he trailed a hand down the younger man's spine. Q pressed his body closer to Bond, and gasped when he felt one of Bond's hands slide between his thighs. Q moved his legs wider apart to allow Bond greater access. 

Q stretched his body so that he could worry Bond's lower lip between his teeth, and from there worked his lips into a passionate kiss. He pressed his tongue into Bond's mouth and skimmed the back of his teeth while Bond's hand slipped into Q's pyjama bottoms and wrapped itself around his cock. 

The feeling of Bond's hands- the press of his fingers at his base and the swipe of Bond's thumb over Q's tip- cause Q to moan delicately into Bond's mouth. In response, the agent rolled himself over Q so that his knees were balanced on either side of Q's hips. Quickly, Bond jerked down Q's pyjamas and let his hand roam over Q's bare thighs and cock. Q brought his hands down Bond's chest to the bottom hem of his t-shirt and lifted it over his head. Bond caught his arms as he moved, taking in the fresh cuts. 

"I'm trying." Q whispered. He didn't move from Bond's grasp. Instead he watched the agent study his wounds. 

"Promise?" Bond asked, running his fingers over the cuts. 

"Yes." Q nodded and lifted his body so that he was sitting up. He looked straight into Bond's eyes. "I promise."

"Okay." Bond said, and he kissed Q gently before lowering him back down onto the bed. He pulled Q's bottoms fully off and stripped away the rest of his own clothing. When he returned his attention to Q, he was holding their bottle of lube in his hand. 

 

11 October, 2013 

“We should give bungee jumping a try.” Bond suggested one afternoon. 

“I don’t really see myself as having the desire to jump out into nothingness, James.” 

17 October, 2013 

They stood at the top of the bridge, feet centimeters from the edge. Bond could feel the warmth of Q’s thin body through the harness on his back. 

“Are you ready?” Bond asked him, reaching his hand back so that Q could grab it. 

“Fuck no I’m not ready.” Q said, his voice strained with terror. 

“Q, we can go home right now if you want.” Bond said, yelling over the wind. 

“Six months ago I injected myself with a synthetic chemical that has morphed me into a permanent adrenaline junkie.” Q yelled back. He gripped the bridge tightly as he looked far down to the water below. “And now I’m standing on a bloody bridge with James Fucking Bond, getting ready to jump into the abyss.” 

“Yes, but you’re not doing it alone.” Bond said, squeezing Q’s hand gently. 

“Fair enough.” Q concurred. “Ready?”  
“Ready.”  
And they stepped off of the ledge, and fell together- both of them completely terrified, but ready for the rush of adrenaline that followed the plunge.


End file.
